A Second Chance
by Alexandra P. Useless
Summary: Henri Ducard is broken. But even a broken soul can be fixed. Movie based.
1. Prologue

** I have not read the comics. Period. This is strictly movie based, and if you don't appreciate what I do with Ducard's charecter, then don't read it. I have no idea how his personality works, so I'm making a guess off the movie's not-so-good charecter development. I should say, though, that I went to see hte movie last night, and the reason I'm writing this now was that I was horrified to see my favorite actor, who does so well in a fatherly, good guy role, placed in the seat as a bad guy with a twisted sense of honor. That said, this is only to redeme my favorite actor, and, despite how evil he was, my favorite charrecter...**

**BIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGG breath**

**Ahem.**

**Flamersmay open fire, if they choose. Every one is entitled to their oppinion. For those who have an open mind for new writers, I hope you enjoy this.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the charrecters from Batman, or it's plot. I am not benefiting from this financialy or in any other way. The plot to this story, and most of it's charrecters, Ducard aside, are just little drabbles I've kept locked up in my mind...**

* * *

"I won't kill you…"

He looked into the eyes of his pupil, satisfaction tickling at his pride amidst the panic of approaching doom.

"But I don't have to save you."

Shit.

_Foom._

_Vanish away into darkness._

_Flames licking at his skin, devouring the living flesh in a blaze of horrific glory. _

_Smoke clogging his lungs, engulfing him in a sea of suffocation. _

_Heat… Boiling over him… Pushing him, with vengeance, to the point furthest from reality._

_And away into darkness._

_Panic._

o.o.o

Flames like those should have killed a man. A crash like that should have destroyed any one human. An explosion such as the one he endured should have whisked a mortal man away into darkness… But for Henri Ducard, fate was making an acception.

o.o.o

"Mr. Ducard. Come now, time to face reality once again."

_The darkness receding, like a veil, leaving him prone to violent light._

"Wake, child. Depart from that which you fear."

_No… _He fought against the current of energy that seemed to pull him. _No…_

"Come back to me, Ducard… It is time to forget."

His eyes opened.

"Good morning."


	2. Chapter one

**This is my first chapter, and if you're here, then you must not have minded the prologue. I hope this one is okay with you too.**

_

* * *

_

_It hurt._ It hurt as if the whole ordeal had happened all over again… His entire body… Ravaged… And it didn't make sense. He was supposed to be gone, gone, gone. And there was the light, too, this grim, bleak reminder that he still breathed.

He tried to lift a hand, just to touch the body that should no longer have existed… But, even as he did, he felt a new jolt of pain overtake his entire left side, and was unable to retain a gasp. There was a strange taste of copper in his mouth that was fairly familiar but still a surprise. He licked his lips; Blistered and bruised as the rest of him. And then he saw the face.

It was a blur really, which, though he blinked several times, remained out of focus, as did the rest of the details of his surroundings. "Good morning, Mr. Ducard. I'm glad to finally speak with you face to face."

_What kind of a nut job says something like that?_

The bed, or perhaps _cot,_ shifted under him, and by instinct he knew some one had taken the liberty to sit chancily on the edge. The blur boldly thrust what Ducard assumed was a hand into his line of vision, allowing him a pin-point area to focus on. "Do you know where you are?"

Ducard turned his head away, closing his eyes against the intruding light, and the invading question; Too much at once. The cot shifted again, and a hand was at his cheek. The intrusive presence urged his head to turn back towards the voice. "Do you remember what has happened to you?"

_Bits and pieces…_

His eyes remained closed against the harsh extremities of the world… The presence seemed accepting, and allowed him to descend back into the darkness. "Just rest."

o.o

"Where am I?" His voice crept like a ghost from his throat - A week of silence finally disturbed. His vision remained blurred, accursedly, and he often found himself referring back to his first lessons with his sensei, which had detailed the uses of his other senses…

But it seemed that either all of his senses had been numbed by the… Happening, or the entire room had been cleansed of scent, and taste. The only sounds he usually heard were those of the Healing Man, who came too stand beside his cot every day as Ducard progressed in his recovery, otherwise the little dwelling was void. The only sense he found he could still rely on was that of touch. At times he might have even allow a bandaged hand to slip to the floor, and stroke the tiled floor… Cool and soft edged, the tiles reminded him greatly of a color white.

But today there was else to think about.

"You are in the healing rooms of the Council of the Heavenlies." Ducard licked his lips to further investigate, but was silence by the Healing Man's calming voice, "That is all you need know for now."

The fatherly presence moved to work on the changing of Ducard's bandages. A an herb soaked cloth washed over his face, offering a hint of relief from the constant burning in his skin. What skin there was… The fire, which the healer would say little about, had taken most of his skin, leaving many raw, open wounds on his body, which the healer bathed in an herb that he guessed must have grown by the multitudes around these 'healing dwellings.'

"The plant has amazing regenerative capabilities," his healer had boasted the day that Durcard had become coherent. "It also counteracts the effects of that poison you and your men have ingested."

The Healing Man did not often volunteer information about the healing dwelling and it's location… Or whom the Council of the Heavenlies truly were. He seemed thoroughly aware of Ducards dark history, of the shadow warriors and his origins… And his intentions with Bruce Wayne. But the healer only continued to work to ease the pain of the many bruises, breaks, and wounds.

He had broken many bones when that forsaken train had fallen from it's track, and had also sustained a deep gouge through the skin and into the are just below his lungs, which had nearly taken it's life in that injury alone. The explosion had left him without hair or skin, just a blistered outer covering.

In the days he had lain without breath, with out life, in the healing wards of the Heavenly Council, as the healer often referred to it, they had rubbed away the dead and cracked skin, and dressed the gaping wounds plaguing his body. Now, with the aid of the mysterious herb, his skin had begun to grow back, and even a fine bristling of hair on his scalp, where the burns ought to have stunted the growth for ever.

It was in the tea, he supposed. For it was all, at this point, that he could ingest. The healer had incorporated his herb into the salve in the bandages and cooling clothes that soothed the burns on his face… But the main source, Ducard believed, was the tea. In any other case, he would have rejected the foreign substances, but now was too weak to refuse.

His sight, despite the herbs, remained blurred. When confronted about this, the Healing Man responded simply with a shrug, barely visible in the white-ish haze. Ducard was a warrior, though, and had learned to read the heart of his opponent. The healer kept his especially guarded, but it was reasonable to assume that there was more to his lack of sight that the solemn man was telling.

o.o

_I have failed._ Ducard lay in the folds of linen, freshly changed that day, his arms resting above the chalk white sheet. The haze of white that he normally saw had faded to a have of blue, as it always did as night descended. _I have failed miserably. Generations of the Shadow League, entrusted to me… I have destroyed it all._


	3. Chapter two

**Please, besure to send some feed back, good or bad. I don't care. I need to know, 'cause I'm writing a novel, and I might use some of the description techniques and stuff, so please REVIEW!**

* * *

Henri Ducard had feared the darkness since his wife and child had been taken… It stemmed, he supposed, from coming home to a dark house, those first few months after the deaths, and not knowing what to expect from the shadows that had never been there before.

There had always been a night light, one that his wife had proposed installed after their son had a particularly horrid night mare. Henri had slept with the little thing in his room after the night he woke, screaming, from a dream of his deceased family. For the longest time, it had seemed that they would eventually creep from the shadows, just to cause to him the same pain they endured before death.

The night that his sensei had invaded his room, calling him with a bellow like the devil's hound from his sleep, the enormous man had crushed the little night light, chuckling at his pupil-to-be's fears. "Yours is a fear that will benefit you in battle, my young apprentice."

o.o.o

In any case, Henri Ducard was beginning to feel the old twists of dread in his stomach. Before, when lying in his bedroom, he had had the luxury of eyesight. Now, as the darkness descended on him, he had not even that. The shapes twisted before him as he tried to vainly to focus.

_Why does your enemy attack?_

The wind whistled pleasantly through the open window, sending a wave of cool over the weary man. But to Ducard, it was the breath of a demon, wafting over his exposed neck….

_Because it fears you._

His breathing hitched, and Henri found his heart beat thundering his chest. He was sinking back into the darkness, as his mentor had taught him to… Calling upon his fears to summon his strength… But he wanted only to evade that darkness. Wanted only to flee it. Light sank away way, little though there was, suddenly, Ducard was very alone.

_Panic._

_The first time his mentor had struck him, whilst he was blinded by darkness, Henri had reacted in rage, turning with the apprentice's wooden blade and striking out uselessly into the ebon surroundings. _

Ducard thrust his arm out to parry a blow from long time past. His body screamed in protest, but he fought madly against the shadows… And suddenly the creature was upon him, wrapping it's clawed appendages about his limbs, restraining his movement. Henri cried out, feral like, in pain and fear, and struggled away from his attacker -

"_Peace, _Mir. Ducard!" the Healing Man said calmly, his stern body rigid as it anchored the fallen warrior to his cot. "Come back from the shadows, Henri, I am here. There is nothing to harm you."

Ducard slumped as the calm voice invaded the shadows in his mind, pulling him from the darkness. He fell back into the blankets, breathing heavily. There was a shuffling, and as Ducard regained his lost composure, the healer set a candle on the squat little table at his bedside. From that candle, he lit a stick of incense, which he left burning beside the candle.

"Is that derived from your herbs too?" Ducard asked in a monotonous voice, an edge of sarcasm just barely discernable.

"An inspired thought, but no. It's sage."

Ducard sighed, his eye lids growing heavy again, as the healer frowned over his disturbed bandages.

The pain Ducard had felt in his panic had emitted from the vicious gouge wound he had sustained during 'The Accident.' The Healing Man fussed over the wound now, removing the bandages in exasperation, though still preserving the mask of calm as he spoke.

"You've reopened the wound again, strained right through the stitches. I would think a warrior would have known better." There was a hint of amusement in his words, even as he threaded and sanitized a needle so to repair the stitches.

Henri didn't flinch once, meditating thoughtfully on a the scent of incense at his body was once again repaired. A question was aching at the back of him, though he refused to make it know, partially because he feared the healer's answer.

o.o.o

It was nearly three weeks since he had woken in this strange and tranquil place. Ducard lay, still too weak to leave his cot, deep in thought, meditating upon the darkness from which he had so franticly fled from the night before. It was humiliating to imagine now, a grown man, and a warrior of the shadows, fleeing from a monster from beneath the bed.

_My fear is my weakness, and also my strength._

He had learned to build anger around fear, to harness one of the most powerful emotions in the universe to prompt the primitive, bestial side of himself that man had buried long ago. Now he focused on what he feared most - The shadows.

There was a straining in his heart, a fluttering that blossomed beautifully into flickering flames of fear. In his mind, he reached out to touch it, take it in his fist and breath life into it. As the fear grew within, he drew on the strength, sending waves of energy to his healing body, whispering the prayers his sensei had taught him long ago.

His hair was nearly an inch long now. A soft, chocolaty brown, touched hear or there with hints of blonde. A shrewd growth of stubble had been inspired upon his chin and just above his lip, the color of ginger. The warrior had acquired quite a set of lines on his face over the years. Weariness, most of them. Some grief, some stress. Most of them were premature, even for a man of his age.

The fear had become intoxicating now, and he had to work to control his breathing. His heart was once again racing, as he drew on what had become a drug over the years.

_A pressure on his leg…_

His eyes flew open, his fists balling against the menace that was -

TBC


	4. Chapter Three

gobbles down reviews) - **Reviews... A special thanks to the reviewer, Shaggy, whom is one of my best friends, and I'd like to thank him for taking the time (out of his grounded life) to read AND review to me! Thanks Shaggy!**

* * *

… A cat.

He raised a brow quizzically at the tiny feline that had come to perch on his bed. Silver, and striped in shocking black. It looked as if his eyes were green, but through his injured eyes, his guess was useless. It was staring at him with a look of sarcasm like "What did you expect?"

The creature settled down, curling into a ball beside his lower leg, tail twitching inquisitively as it cleaned a paw. Ducard stared at the creature for a moment, debating whether to let it lye or send it tumbling.

He let is be; some companionship at this point would be appreciated. He stretched forward just enough to scratch behind the cat's ears… And received a clawed cuff on his hand in return for his generosity. He jerked the assaulted hand back - " You little shi-"

"Making new friends?" He turned, looking up to the blotch of white and black that he had come to know as The Healer. The smell of fresh tea.. Ashamedly, he was eager for a bit of the natural pain killer.

The healer rested a hand gently on the cat's head as he set the tea in Ducard's hands.

"Your body will be strong enough to ingest food, Mr. Ducard," said the healer mildly, checking over the healing wounds with prestigious care, applying extra attention to the mending ribs and the gouge wound just bellow. "You're healing nicely… Uncannily even."

"It comes with practice."

There was silence as the Healing Man finished his work, tucking a bandage carefully into place. Ducard had been fighting the question for what felt like ages, but now it slipped out; "Why does the Council of the Heavenlies want me to live?"

The healer paused, looking up to meet his eyes, though Henri could hardly tell. He had asked a similar question, when he had first awoken - "Why?" Just… _Why?_ Why rescue a man that most would say deserved death? Why give aid to a total stranger? The Healing Man had said, infuriatingly, "Because the Heavenly Council wishes it," and that was all. Now, his savior answered, equally as simply, "Because even you, deserve a second chance."

Ducard shook his head, too tired to argue. He tried another question, this time without restraint on his curiosity. "What is your name, healer?"

"…I am called Chael."

o.o.o

_Chael,_ as far as Henri could tell, was an oriental, and shortish - Just over five feet, he would have to guess. But, as he had learned on his nightmare nights, the little man was strong, and well coordinated. It was impossible to be sure, but it seemed that his hair was black, and cropped nearly as short as Henri's. He always smelled of spice and spearmint leaves, perhaps from a garden. He seemed the type who would command a room, just by walking into it. Henri felt doubtlessly safe when in his presence.

Chael. He had heard the name before. It meant angelic.

_Suits him just fine._

o.o.o

"I believe you may be able to walk soon," Chael murmured in his peace-like-a-river tone, prodding sensitively at where the gouge wound was healing under the horse-hair stitches. His handy work, as Henri had observed, was precise, right down to the last thread. The flesh had nearly healed together, and the skin was beginning to look healthy once again. His bones, aided by the healing herb, were even beginning to heal.

"That would be something," the sarcasm in the modern-day knight was obvious, earning him an amused look from Chael.

"Your bones will be strong soon, and perhaps then, your sight." Chael touched the area directly bellow Ducard's left eye. "I cannot understand why your sight has not returned yet." The uncertainty in the man's voice was enough to earn a churn from Ducard's stomach.

"Do not fear, my friend.. We will find the answer." Chael snuffed the candles with his fingertips, letting darkness once again descend. Ducard felt his cheek touch the sheets, felt the coolness of night come to settle on his bared shoulders.

Chael lingered for a moment, touching his patient's head comfortingly - "Sleep well…"

_It was a bidding that would go unfilled._

o.o.o

His entire frame shuddered as the darkness overwhelmed him, curling it's finger's about his throat and clenching, leaving him gasping. Claws dug into his mind, reaping a wave of spasms over his body. The fear set to work in his spine, and curled, cruelly, up into his chest, and then to his heart, which had begun to race, hammering against his rib cage.

The shadows twisted around him, brimming with the evil he had learned to draw his strength from. He struggled to stand against the wickedness, his soldier instincts straining against natural instincts… And then the hand.

It emerged, creeping, from the darkness, pale and ghostly, and some how perfect all the same. It stretched towards him, reaching out as if to touch his face -"

"Leave this place, wretched creature!" Chael's voice sliced through the shadow like a samurai's blade. "I cast you out, in God's name!" The shadows receded, leaving him shuddering on the cot, slumped safely against Chael's grasp.

_"_You mustn't let those thoughts of darkness enter your mind again, Henri." Chael lay him back into the linen. "They wait to attack you, my friend… And don't think for a moment they won't!'

Ducard could only shiver under the healing man's hands, fighting back the tears that his memories had unearthed.


	5. Chapter Four

**a special thanks to those whom gave me some constructive critisism -I really truly apreciate it, and I hope you'll not be offended that I don't edit my story after wards, because this story is just to get some of my thoughts out... I _will_ however, keep it in mind when developing hte plot and charrecters in my origional work. **

**Thanks, and enjoy these next two chapters.**

* * *

Henri Ducard took his first steps in three months.

Chael stood protectively at his side, having helped him to stand, now within arm's length, should the warrior require a helping hand, but both Ducard and Chael knew that he would not accept aid, not unless it was unavoidable by any means.

Ducard's skill in coordination had left him in his weakness, but returned to guide his bare feet as he continued down the hall. His steps were slow, and he didn't move unless he knew he would be able to follow completely, and firmly through.

The hall was narrow, and as white as a dove's downy breast, and, as he extended a hand to seeks it's guidance, he noted it was solid wood beneath the textured paint.

His vision was still blured, badly, but there was source of light, scarcely five yards ahead of him. The presence of a cool breeze, brushing soothingly at his cheeks, suggested that the light came from an open door, or a window, and he eagerly advanced, aware of Chael's silent footsteps just behind him. The healer seamed pleased, if not amused, by his patient's enthusiasm.

Ducard slipped through the door way, for that is what was, and out onto what he assumed was a balcony. His fingers, trembling, searched for the railing that would restrain his plummeting from the little protruding deck. _Be aware of your surroundings…_

There was suddenly a hand on his, Chael's, and it guided him to the smooth wooden railing. Ducard stiffened under the offered aid, but did not strike the hand as he might have when his strength was abundant. Instead, he turned his head out to sweep in the haze of green that made up the outside world.

It was a good deal like a water color picture, all the shades faded in together, and the blue of the sky bleeding into the emerald of the lush world bellow. There was the heartening scent of budding flowers, and perhaps fruit, but he was uncertain as to what type.

He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of freedom… As much as his lungs would handle, before exhaling once again.

o.o.o

Chael stood behind the warrior, his arms locked, soldier like, behind his back. The man, despite how me might let on, was definitely human, not at all the myth that story tellers liked to make him out to be. _Only a man… _

They stood there for what could have hours, until the sun began it's decent into the horizon. Chael stepped forward to rouse the man, and found he had startled him out of a particularly in depth meditation session.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Mr. Ducard, but it is time to retire."

o.o.o

Ducard slept soundly, for the first time in ages that night.

o.o.o

"Mr. Ducard, I will have to bar the entrance to your room soon, if you continue to leave it with out first informing me. You'll strain something, most likely, if you continue on like you do."

Chael's voice was good natured, and though Henri Ducared could not see it, he knew there was most likely a twinkle in the healer's eyes, but there was some truth to his words, nonetheless. Ducard allowed his own good tempered chuckle, his eyes still closed. His body was set loosely in a meditating stance, arms clasped behind his back and legs braced apart.

He had been walking on his own for a month now, much to the dismay of his healer, who often scolded him for being too hasty in his recovery.

"No man is immortal," he often said, raising his brows appraisingly at Ducard as he did. He was overly protective of his charge, often working to persuade him to use a cane for his bad leg, which had suffered the worst of the heat exposure. Ducard equally as often scoffed at the idea of a warrior resorting to a cane when his two legs worked well enough.

"Come, I've prepared an evening meal." Ducard turned, treading softly down the bleached hall, his feet now accustomed to the mahogany shaded wood floor. They ate their food in Chael's sleeping quarters, sitting silently at the little table that was positioned in the center of his room.

The healing dwelling had only three rooms, as far as Ducard was aware of, the tiny hallway not accounted for; There was the little front room, where visitors (they had received none) left coats or shoes, furnished with a small couch, enough to seat perhaps two. Then there was Ducard's quarters, large enough only to house a bed and a small closet for personal belongings. It offered just enough floor space for meditation or perhaps pacing, if that particular patient was a restless one. Right after his room was Chael's close enough so that the healer could count the breathing of his charge, if he wished to. Chael's quarters were a small bit larger than Ducard's, to accommodate a small chair, and the table. Any cooking was done in a small cooking pot and over a portable stove which slid under his sleeping cot. The whole dwelling followed the same color scheme - White walls and dark wood.

One had to travel out doors to use the facilities, which was a but impractical but still livable. When Ducard had been unable to walk, he had not been forced to make the journeys, as his body had miraculously absorbed every property of the tea. As soon as he had gotten the strength to make the trip, he had been allowed to eat full meals.

The meal consisted only of vegetables and rice, which was what Ducard had lived on for a great deal of his life, and he found them delicious. Chael always ate without conversation, yielding to the multitude of thoughts that seemed to thrash madly about in his head every day. Ducard wouldn't have had it any other way.

o.o.o

That night, Ducard lay awake on his cot that night, contemplating the man he had shared space with for nearly six months now. In his weakened state, they had not often conversed, and even when he had begun to regain his composure, they had remained rather silent between themselves… And yet there was a companionship forming all the same. The man _had_ healed him, after all, but really, Ducard found it necessary to chide himself for letting his rigid opinion of friendship slip.

He would eventually have to put up his shield again, disconnect himself from the healer. Compassion would cost him dearly in the future, he knew, especially if it became necessary to terminate the man's life. Ducard repressed a shudder, looking furtively at his callused hands in the darkness. _Time will reveal, though._

He still had yet to learn of this _Heavenly Council_, though, and he found his mounting curiosity harder and harder to control. It had especially become a nuisance in the hours of his meditation.

o.o.o

The nightmares visited him again that night, grotesquely twisting before him in the shadows. The hand emerged again, as pale and as spidery as before, but this time just _stretching_ to caress his face…. Just in reach… Ducard's breath caught in his throat.

Chael was there in seconds, brandishing a candle against the darkness and the illusions dancing before Ducard's eyes. "I cast you out in the name of the father of Israel." The shadows receded away, leaving a shuddering man, trembling so that his cot shook beneath him. Chael set a hand on the shaken man's head, breathing calmly, whispering prayers in a foreign tongue. Ducard soon lay, nearly slumbering once more.

Just before the healer once again left the room, the warrior stopped him, extending a hand into his path. " Twice now, you have cast the nightmares from my room with the authority of a God-fearing man. Surely you do not believe in such fairy tales as the divine spirit?"

Chael contemplated his words, and then spoke carefully. "I believe we were created by the hand of a greater being, and not by the theories of the men of science, yes. As a member of The Council's healing facilities, I am required to study the words of the holy book, if that is what you're implying. It is how we protect out charges from the fears they live within."

Ducard snorted, turning on his side.

"Goodnight, Mr. Ducard."


	6. Chapter Five

**I guess there's no need to provide an intro for this... Enjoy.**

* * *

In the six months Henri Ducard had lived in the little healing hut, he had never once heard from another human, aside from Chael. He had listened long and hard for the sounds of children, of women or training warriors, but had heard not even the slightest whisper. If only he could have seen properly.

The night before, Chael had announced over their dinner that they would be leaving the healing dwelling the next day, to go the dwellings of The Council. Today he prepared, dawning a traveler's cloak, and retrieving a walking staff. The air had adopted a chill, lately, and he had required Ducard to take the same measures in autumn dress. The warrior was clothed in a dark tunic and trousers, as well as the thick traveling cloak that the healer had produced for him. He was also required to carry a staff, so that he did not have any unnecessary collisions with innocent trees or bolders.

Chael packed little more that an extra set of clothes for the both of them, and a bit of food and water, which surprised Ducard. _The dwellings must be close by. _

They began in the early morning, just before the sun had arisen, heading off in an easterly direction. Ducard's pace was slow as he became used to the footing, his hand thrust out before him distrustfully. Chael, at times, reached out to correct the warrior's path, or perhaps lead him safely through a rocky area.

o.o.o

They had traveled only an hour before Chael stopped, motioning for Ducard to follow suit as he sat, positioned as one might to meditate, on the soft ground, his head bowed. Ducard sat, but with mounting curiosity. There was a strange smell to the place, familiar but unnatural at the same time. A stark, acrid smell that reminded him painfully of Gotham city…

In the morning hours, most shadows had yet to yield to the sun's soft shades of light… But that did not seem to atone to the large, dark blob of land that stretched out before him. It was long and narrow, and too dark to be anything but a shadow, but he just couldn't guess what was responsible for blocking that much light.

Puzzled, and somewhat frustrated, he bowed his head as Chael had, disappearing into a light state of meditation.

The earth around them suddenly became deathly silent, void of even the twitter of lovestruck songbirds. Ducard was tempted to investigate, but by nature forced himself deeper into the meditation, shoving his curiosity aside. Chael said nothing, remaining in his solemn pose nonetheless. Ducard focused on delving deeper into the quiet place in his mind.

And then came the thunder.

It was more of an ungodly roar, actually, that startled Ducard deeply, he opened his eyes, and stared into the heavens, trying to discern one shape from the other. Chael was at his side, standing, fumbling to fasten his hood properly so that the wind, which had begun to churn, would not whisk it away.

Ducard stood also, steadying himself which his staff. "What is this monstrosity!" He called over the roaring, wincing against the wind.

"Our transportation."

_What?_

No sooner had the thought emerged in Ducard's head, the _thing_ arrived; A large, silver streak from the sky, that descended swiftly to land on the stretch of shadow that Ducard had been bitterly puzzling over. It glided down the strip easily, sending a final gust of wind their way as it came to a stop close by, not far from the end of the shadow strip. Only then did Ducard understand.

The shadows were shadows at all, but a landing strip… A landing strip of dark asphalt, from which the strange smell had emitted from. And if that was the landing strip, then the sliver blur was, of a course, a -"

"Come, we must board the jet quickly before we are detected." Chael took his by the elbow, leading him past the whirling blades that made up the private air vessel's propellers, and up the descended stairs, and then into the cabin.

Six months of living as his ancestors had, with no more than what those in the biblical times had to cope with, Ducard had nearly forgotten his life before hand. Yes, he had lived in the ninja school, for it had been his home, but he had had access to a great deal of technology all the same. Now in this harsh, sterile new milieu, he found he was a bit taken aback, sinking into a chair when it was offered by Chael.

There were no others in the cabin, alas, they were still alone… But a small box crackled on the wall, and the piolet's voice rang through the tiny space scratchily. "Better get situated quick, Chael, we have to make this short. I think some one may have seen me set down."

Chael responded quickly, as did Ducard, who's memory of machines and modern day marvels was rushing back with a stunning clarity. They fastend their seat belts as the jet began to make the turn so that he could take off again.

"How are you, Chael?" The piolet's voice rang through the cabin again.

"I'll be fine if you keep your concentration on the controls, Michael," Chael answered dryly, fumbling to tighten the belt.

"You sound as if you don't trust me, Chael!" The man on the other end of the intercom chuckled as he chided the healer, whom Ducard expected was an old friend. Chael grinned, "Now why on earth would you expect that?"

o.o.o

The plane ride was uneventful, peaceful even. Ducard returned straight back to meditation, determined to remain as level minded as he had been before the incident in Gotham City. Chael ventured, from time to time, up to speak with the pilot, but was otherwise silent himself.

They flew over the ocean, heading west, bound for God knew what continent. Ducard had never managed to coax the location of the healing dwelling from his healer's lips. It was a long flight, to be sure.

They were offered food at what he imagined was perhaps half the duration of the flight, but neither of them accepted little more than water and a bit of dried fruit.

o.o.o

The flight lasted all of six hours, perhaps more, and carried them into a terra more friendly to the blood in Ducard's veins.


End file.
